Lone Star State of Mind

Austin was like one of my favorite t-shirts: cool and creative and I just FELT comfortable in it. To say it was a good fit, at least for a girls weekend, would be an understatement. It didn't hurt to have the company of old college roomies too.

The town is very chill; very relaxing. Maybe it’s because music is always playing and people are in to being unique and creating - you know, doing their own thing. Maybe it's just like any strange city: everything seems novel and new the first time. Maybe it's because I was toddler-free and got to sleep in till 10 am one morning. I can't shake the feeling though of old songs returning to me as we weaved in and out of stores or over lunch; tunes I hadn't heard for years or forgot about but that made the city seem more alluring (from Toad the Wet Sprocket to TV on the Radio). It just felt like the city was wooing me.

Stars are everywhere. I would expect nothing less from Texas but in Austin it comes in much cooler forms. I got in later Friday night and missed "happy afternoon". On their way back to the hotel, Chena, Dahlia and Sophia came across an Austin Film Festival premier and James Franco moving through the red carpet doing an interview. To my dismay, we met up after that and all I had to look at were photos of the star-crossed meeting. 

We changed and went to find some dinner. We headed over to Rainy Street and had a drink at a place called Clive while we waited to be called for some Indian Food at a place called G’Rag Mahal. Then we walked through the neighborhood to a bar called the Blackheart. All the places were houses or empty lots made into some great venue. it was all very residential in feel, like we were cruising some college town and a cool neighborhood had magically turned in to a bar scene one night. You could hear music seeping out on to the street, loud and lofty, like the night was on fire. The feel though was still very mellow in many ways. Beautiful people everywhere; some of them certainly quaffed but others quaffed with a creative vein - in a tight fitting flannel and some cool band t-shirt. It certainly is a place to be an individual. The crowd at the bar surfed Facebook and listened to the band and danced and drank; never fully invested in one thing other than the scene itself and being out for the night.

The next morning, we woke up at 10 am. I can’t remember the last time I did that and though we were up late, it felt good to sleep in; to not pop out of bed for a miss M, always on schedule at 7; to have a breather and only take care of myself for a few days. We wondered down to Congress Street and walked towards breakfast. Dahlia’s friend Star literally ran directly in to us, what a strange sighting and what a sweet girl. She tipped us off to Second Street, where we headed for breakfast. We stopped at a place called Jo’s, which ironically might be a chain (and you know how I feel about that but damn my sandwich was worth it). I had a gooey egg sandwich and a latte as we all sat outside at the bar space watching Austinites in the Saturday morning routine. Bikers going by, women in dresses and fedoras. Older people. It was truly a mixed bag. 

We walked a chunk of the city after that looking around. We accidentally ended up on a three hour tour to reach our paddle boarding destination. It provided those moments where you come upon daily life in an unfamiliar city. We got lost found ourselves over by a spring pool trying to figure out where to go and then how we even got lost to begin with. But there were people everywhere: running or on the river or playing music.

When we finally got to the paddle boarding place, it was really a great experience. Paddling down the Lady Bird Lake, feeling like we were on a river. Looking up at the mansions and getting lost in the vegetation on the cliffs just below them. Watching the birds sweep over the water. Hearing the light paddle in the water and sitting down, lying down relaxing with a cool breeze to alleviate the humidity in the air. It felt like a perfect experience I could recreate everyday, though I wouldn’t have the inspiring new place and curiosity in my pocket.

We painstakingly walked back towards the hotel our sweet river retreat. We stopped to eat across from Austin City Limits, a statue of Willy Nelson standing guard. From there we headed to see the bats, which I hate to say were a bit of a disappointment, though I imagine in the height of summer are still pretty amazing. Back at the hotel showers ensued and some chill time. We headed out for dinner at Perla's, a great restaurant with a fun patio for pre-dinner drinks; one that almost felt 1940's movieish. Once inside, the food backed up it's reputation (all the entrees were impressive but goddamn their Shells & Cheese was out of this world). We made our way to a jazz bar after that and then got dropped off before Sixth Street to take in the post-college football happenings. It was pretty chaotic and funny and also left me feeling old.

Sunday, shopping was on the schedule. The clouds were full and floated through the air rather quickly when we started out that morning. It can get a little windy down south, which serves as a reminder that you’re in the old west because otherwise, it doesn’t feel that way at all. It feels like some strange place you wander in to that has really good eye candy: architecture and signage and restaurants. Music streams from all over the place and if it isn’t streaming, it’s live. There is a constant stimulation to your ears – in a good way (not in the Vegas way where machines leave you feeling bombarded) - more in the way where you find yourself walking down the street in a light mellow mood wondering why you feel so relaxed only to realize music has been dusting your ears for a few days, weather subtly in shops and restaurants or at a bar right in front of your face. You run in to old songs you haven't heard in a long time. You run in to new songs too.

We made our way around the sites, stopping to see what this guy Lance Armstrong has to sell in his UBER-bike shop, which was pretty cool. Dahlia made out like a bandit in there (unfortunately some lucky bastard found her souvenirs in the cab after we were dropped off at the airport). Still we had a good lunch thanks to Julie Howard's recommendation of Guero's Taco Bar. I knew I could trust anywhere she sent me and really, how can I be unsatisfied with fresh guac and queso?! We shopped after that down State Street taking in the food carts and secondhand stores, finding cute screen press t-shirts and funny schtuff to take home to loved ones. One last drink and then we were fetching a cab to leave. Quick but a great escape.

This seems the perfect sign for this place: uncorporate and phallic and bright. It's just a fun, sexy city keeping it fresh. 

And then it was just a memory. Until next time, my friends...

Some photo credits to Chena Popper, Dahlia Feiter, and Sophia Yen :)

Me lika Mizuna

To be honest, I'm not a foodie; I wish I were. I admire foodies. They seem like cool people who never have to say they're cool to be cool. They just silently take in the moment, taste it for all it's worth and notice the fine nuances. I'm not that subtle and neither is my pallet. Since I can't really smell anything, my schnauze ruins most things I really want to taste. I use my eyes more in the eating experience because of this. It's why I like color and contrast on a plate. Still D holds firm to the idea that he can expose me to the finer foods in life.

A few weeks ago, he took me out to the incomparable Mizuna for dinner. It was inspiring to say the least. Upon sitting down, I felt like we were whisked away in to a dream of what you imagine the most wonderful date dinner to be: a quaint, hip restaurant; a friendly waiter; unbelievable food presented in the most interesting ways; long-legged wines courtesy of a well-seasoned sommelier; and the sheer joy of a full belly of good food and drink as you sit across from an attractive companion.

Since D knows so many people over there, we were visited by faces entrenched in the scene. It seemed like clockwork the way the evening flowed and they stopped by the say hello. It was impressive; I told him later in the meal, if we weren't married and just on any old Friday night date, he probably would be getting lucky.

This was food and ambiance as an art form. It was taken to a high level by people who perfect what degree to prepare the food at, how to make it unique and interesting, how to seamlessly deliver the enjoyment of the experience to your own personal space within their confines. Every person is at the top of their game: mastering their profession, believing in the company, helping people enjoy a night out on the town. Who cares if it's cow town Denver; I felt like we were in Manhattan. Good meals have no boundaries.

In fact, I was nervous that I wasn't sheik or foodie enough to rise to the occasion. D grimaced at the idea of me taking photos of the courses. He made me promise no flash (please, I don't shine my gold teeth in public). Still, I'm left wanting when I sit reviewing the night in photos. The experience itself is one beautiful photo in my head though I wish my morsel memory was stronger. I wish I could remember the flavors more distinctly and how the wine accompanied them. I wish I was savvy enough to order a five-course meal in perfect, complimenting flavors to match the standards of what each person in that restaurant brings to the table. To say to the staff, I too like food as much as you. But I don't understand food the way these people do. It made me feel lacking - in a good way; in the way I get inspired to be a better person in my daily life when I'm faced with people flourishing passionately in theirs. In the way it made me go home and want to make flavored butter to serve on the table to my guests.

If as Bonanno says, "Every night is theater; we’ll want to give a better show next time". I say, it was all I could do not to walk out of Mizuna clapping.

Down by the Water - Part II

Part II of my St. Augustine Food segment is about Saltwater Cowboys, a restaurant set among the salt marshes just off the inter-coastal. If we looked hard enough, we could have tried to spy my dad's place, but we were focused on the fare - namely getting our fill. Luckily it was still early and we had beat what everyone promised to be "the crowds." It seemed strange to imagine as we walked toward the shack-looking hideaway with it's great old wood and worn out feel. It seemed completely deep south, as if frog legs and alligator tails SHOULD be on the menu in a place like this (the South has a way of making me feel like I'm in a foreign country of sorts for that reason).

I'm not sure what got in to me but we happily chose to sit out on the back porch, forgetting the weight of humidity on our skin the past few days. The view drove home the southern feel with a long dock that seemed to lead to no where, at least with the tide out. The strange sounds of zapping and late afternoon crackled in the background and a den of "stray" cats sat just below the deck, waiting for handouts (during the meal, a few came up to take in the guests, explore their options, and Jedi mind trick us into giving them scraps).

Adding to the already heavy air, we choose to dig right in to the fried goodness of it all. D went with soft shell crabs and I choose to get a good ole fashioned southern fixture - fried chicken, baked potato and cheese grits (cheese in grits?! yes please! with a side of heart-attack thank you very much).

Our server gladly took our order and promised to return with cheesy bread. We had clearly discovered a cheese mecca deep fried in fat with a side of marmalade for sweetness. I was in heaven.

And then the food arrived...

and we lost all real estate on the table (and in our bellies).

By the end of it all, we were in pain with the amount of food we had eaten in the heavy humid air - it felt unbearable. Even our drinks were sweating.

We still managed to order take-away key lime pie and pineapple pecan pie (what I imagined to be different than it was b/c I LOVE pecan pie - the key lime beat it out hands down). Inside the restaurant AC felt unbelievable especially since our pores no longer worked properly - now clogged with both sweat and oil. Families were stuffed in to tables at the front end of the experience while their kids ran around squealing (soon to be in food coma). We looked at some of the old-fashioned photos along the walls and D stopped for a hat (he had to commemorate the best soft-shell crabs he has ever had). When walking out, we passed the droves of people waiting on the front porch to get in. Thank god they had an outside bar or surely the would loose business on the wait. One man said to me as I passed by, "look, dessert!" I wish I would have coolly said, "Thanks, I hear the pie is good too!" (It was one of those moments that you want to have a re-do on for the sheer comedy lost).

Down by the Water - Part I

We were just in Florida...two weeks ago. In any case, we had two really great meals I don't want to let slip away. The food was fantastic, but more so, it was the surroundings that snuck in to my heart.

The first night we were in St. Augustine, we went to a place called the Purple Olive for dinner. We had eaten a few hours before with my dad (after we traversed a good portion of the US and the eastern Florida coastline) but after he went to sleep, it just felt right to take D down along the beach as soon as possible, along the strip that has been so fondly familiar my entire life.

In any case, we found ourselves here for dinner surrounded by local art. It began as one of those meals where you remind yourself, "I really enjoy hanging out with my partner." (D had just returned from the bathroom only to report the table of cougars on the other side of the restaurant checked him out. I liked his candor.) It was that kind of night - where the conversation might take us any place and be light-hearted and fun.

We ordered soup to start. I chose a delicious avocado-based gazpacho. It was breaking towards the end but I thought it was a brilliant and unique take on the old reliable summer soup (I still need to search for a recipe online to make here). D always inspired by a coastline nearby - ordered the Red Snapper Special with black beans. And though I haven't had any fish since I started getting round, my craving for fish and pasta beat out my fear of mercurying my kid to death (too bad the photo doesn't do the plate justice).

As I said, it wasn't really the food as much as the atmosphere. Half-way through our soups, an older man walked in the the room and was seated at a table across from us. He was a character of sorts, a regular for sure. He owned the place the second he walked in - it almost seemed as if he was the night time entertainment the way he commanded every one's attention by speaking in general to the room and so boldly to the staff (they all knew him so well and didn't even have to take his drink order). We were intrigued, as was everyone else. It took us a little while to fully acknowledge his activity and break the privacy of our table but once we opened ourselves up to paying attention, we were taken in by his energy and charm. We even invited him to come sit with us for dinner. He was alone and we knew he had great stories to tell. He turned us down numerous times as he didn't want to interrupt our meal but he still felt inclined to converse from table to table, which we happily did. The staff treated the scene as if it was his normal routine. It was the kind of thing that sounds annoying in theory when you're out for dinner but everyone in the room really did not seem to mind and I felt like we were the lucky winners who got the man's attention first. D had to ask where he was from and find out what his story was. He shared his background about living in New Jersey and starting a business after he retired from Mountain Bell (shout out to my pops who worked there for years as well, adding a bit of irony), he shared about his kids and being married and loosing his wife, all between sips of Merlot and our meals being delivered. There were moments where we drifted to our entrees and sat in silence again but always we would return to further the conversation. It was an interesting back and forth. "Are you sure you won't come sit with us?" we pleaded. "No, it's better this way," he replied (it didn't suit his otherwise outgoing personality).

We had dessert to make the moment last longer (that and it sounded friggin' off the hook - Chocolate Gateau made daily and meticulously by the chef). We wanted more time with our new friend. I could have taken him home in a take-away bag. He told us things like, what he saw when he saw us looking at each other (which made us look at each other more) and why we should appreciate the little things. He made D get up and pull my chair out when I came back from the bathroom. And when D asked for his bill along with ours, the waiter said "no" in a way that explained we were not the first people to ask and also not the first people to get shot down. One couple even came over to introduce themselves to him. D finished another glass of wine to drag our time out even more - we didn't want to leave while he was still eating. There were few people left in the room when we finally got up from our table to leave. I went over and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He held both my hands in his in a way that reminded me of my grandfather; in a way that was so kind-hearted and appreciative and delicate for a man. He asked for one more hug, which I gladly gave. He looked at us both with his lifetime behind him and ours ahead of us. He told us to take care of each other one last time. Even thinking about it now, I can't gush enough about this man's energy.

I wanted so badly to take his photo from across our table but something in me felt it would be an invasion of the magic. Rather our waiter captured this one horrid shot that seems to be taken from a 1991 disposable camera (can you dig my SATC Sara Jessica Parker moment with my entree dish in front of my pregnant belly? Yes I did just SJP myself - it's my blog, I can do that here).

Perspective

Julie Howard and I went to a yoga class last Wednesday at the JCC and then to Cherry Creek Grill for dinner. I had the highly recommended, always delish Macho Salad and JH had the Salmon (I think - anyway it was some fish). We of course ordered cornbread to tie us over till our meals arrived. It was over said bubbly, green-chilified goodness that JH spilled the beans about her upcoming trip to India. Big News. HUGE. News we have been waiting for, for quite some time. How exciting it all was; and when would she be leaving? One week. No shit. She hopped the plane yesterday and is probably there right now.

In any case, she also reported that she branched out from her first blog endeavour, Dad's Diary, to create Something to Blog About so that she could post photos and talk about this trip. Check it out if you get a sec, she is a great photographer/blogger. Before she left, she created a post about a dinner we had a while back. It was one of those nights where you wake up the next morning and wonder what happened?! D, always my top chef (and I do give him a wide berth in the kitchen), lamented, "I forgot to put out the cubed potatoes with the soup." As if the lack of starch was what we had to be concerned about. Me, of course, I blame the martini's and a great bottle of Captain's Reserve Syrah we bought in Napa over my 30th birthday weekend. It was a funny, strange night and I'm glad she caught it on film and in memory. It always amazes me the things JH remembers. I love her perspective, especially the comparison photos of our two animal loves on their perches.

Happy Trails to you, JH, ...until we meet again :)

Root Down

Don't you love it when you come across a new restaurant that's really friggin' cool and serves good food and drinks as well? It's like the stars are aligned on one corner of your world. It feels like an old friend upon first glimpse, like there is some secret kinship you have with the space, the atmosphere. You find yourself wondering when you can come back or who you need to bring back to meet said new BFF (and all of these thoughts occur before you have made your way through the apps). Even if you discover it years after everyone else and your friends say, "Oh yes; I've known about that for centuries. It's fabulous, darling. You simply MUST get over there." And you think, "Yeah I was there last night and I LOVED every minute of it."

That's the kind of place Root Down seems to be. As always, JH had a hot tip on the coolness in Denver and got the ladies to expand their horizons from the regular featured favs. You can imagine how excited I was to discover their desire to be a sustainable, local, organic joint when at all possible. That alone was enough to sell me on the digs, then I walked in and found the reused materials and uber-cool retro/contemporary/dumpster-dived decor and fell head over heals.

From the wall of colored rotary phones to the oversized, photo booth style pictures on both sides of the 50s retro bar, I was in for the ride. It is a fun, delicious place indeed. You simply MUST get over there (and take me with you).

We feasted on Hoisin Duck Confit Sliders, Veggie Burger Sliders, Organic Sweet Potato Fries with a Curry Lime Dunk, King Canyon Ranch Buffalo Sliders, Organic Beet Salad, Grilled Pork Chop, and Croissant Bread Pudding. Apparently the Margaritaville Margarita is a mind-blower and the best $3 marg in town. I choose the house red...now I know for next time.

Try Something New Today

Tom King

It’s been an artsy inspired week of sorts. JM introduced me to the Denver First Monday Art Talk, a monthly event where Eric Matelski interviews an artist or group about their inspirations, accomplishments, vices, etc. He does a great job keeping things moving along nicely; keeping things funny and light yet somewhat informative. Since he knows so many people in the crowd, he is able to talk with the audience and constantly acknowledge the sponsors, supporters, music, etc. It’s arranged somewhat like Inside the Actor’s Studio (my real reason for attending). I’d never been to Dazzle before either – it was hip and cool and I would go back there for drinks and Jazz and possibly brunch (per a hot tip from TC).

The interview/spotlight was on Mario Acevado, an author who writes sexy vampire detective novels and is a representational artist creating some awesome Denver retro signage artwork. It was interesting to hear about his process as a writer and laugh at the silly questions thrown his way. Two highlights of the night came in the form of a trailer Mario's son created about his book. He uses LEGO figures to set the seen and did a really good job pulling it all together and putting it to music, which brings me to my second inspiration. The music comes from a one man band called, The L1MBS. John Mazzucco was there for the festivities and sat in front of us playing the drums and his guitar (sometimes using it to crash the cymbals) all while he was singing. It was chaotic and cool to watch him play.

photos taken by Julie Howard

My second night of art came Tuesday in the form of decoupage. I was so excited for the activity but then had a hard time finding things to pull together for the collage. I thought about it for a few weeks and then at the last minute, I just shoved some paper samples in a bag, grabbed some Merlot, and headed to JH's house. We sat at the table covered in newspaper and ate delicious food while creating masterpieces. J made suggestions and explained the process and we were all set loose to do our thing. Everyone created interesting work using things like old wallpaper, pages from a 50s bowling book, clips from other paper samples and magazines, and even some of the flourishy orange paper from our wedding invites. I spent my time using an old canvass board J brought. I thought it would turn out to be another “year in review” exercise, but it was more about asserting myself as an artist, about doing what I love and just doing it, not thinking about it. I feel like "my piece" (term used loosely) is about having and edge and being a strong feminine artist and creating without thinking. It’s about doing what my heart tells me to do.

Sayonara Summer

Fall is here whole-heartedly. I snuggled in bed till 6:45 and told myself the time change will fix this “sleeping in” problem that I have cultivated. Today summer kissed us goodbye and gently woke sleepy CO to snow in some places and a chill that made riding the scooter to work unbearable. It felt like the passing of a torch one day too early; it felt like Winter skipped ahead in line.

Last week I met up with a friend at Potager for a glass of vino and some delicious snacks. Potager has a way of making you feel hip and satisfied, like your at a friend's house. We had a wonderful quiche accented with beets; a peach wrapped in pancetta with ricotta and herbs buried in the middle where the pit had once been. For dessert we shared strawberry shortcake with Lemon Verbena custard on a biscuit. It was all so yummy and delightful. Unfortunately, as all good things must come to an end, it was the final night of that menu. Potager changes it with the passing of season's and with the availability of produce from local farmers and their garden out back. I love, LOVE the idea of an eating establishment designed around this philosophy. I think this is the way food should be experienced and manipulated (not in some back alley warehouse adding natural flavors and colors). I am dedicated to supporting it, even if it's only a special treat once in a while.

Potager inspired me. As the cold air sneaks over the mountain peaks toward Denver, I've been thinking about how to salvage my own herbs for deep winter treats. Today, I finally clipped a fair amount of the Basil I had growing out back to make pesto. If I didn't get to it, the frost would sooner or later. Like most things cooking, the concept seemed to be more of a big deal until I did it - now for a lifetime of tweaking. I feel proud of my first attempt though, thanks to Better Homes & Gardens and some added spinach. Hopefully a night in the fridge will help it's flavor.